The Father Unbound

by Frank Kennedy

  All eyes turned toward the tent’s open flap, which was quickly filled by a seven-foot-six disciple who weighed upwards of four hundred pounds. He wore no shomba, but his head was shaved. His eyes sought out Hadeed.

  “Andrew, join me.”

  Peacekeeper Spec. Andrew McClatchen walked proudly around the table past suspicious generals and stood on the side of Hadeed opposite Polemicus Damon. Andrew was at least six inches taller than any man in the room. Hadeed knew this moment would be awkward; this was his fully-converted disciple’s first venture inside the tent. Andrew had first offered helpful intelligence, mostly in the form of peacekeeper combat strategies, a year earlier. He offered consults on field training ninth months earlier. He vowed his life to Hadeed’s crusade four months earlier. Through a series of trials that mocked the toughest Passage of Summit, Andrew proved his fealty two months earlier and lost his hair for good. Through all this, however, he never ate at the communal table and rarely heard a thank you from the generals, although they did voice growing confidence in his loyalty.

  “Andrew,” Hadeed continued, “We have been debating what to do about Messalina. There is a notion, which I dearly love, that we should isolate the city, trap its inhabitants and engage in systematic executions of Chancellor civilians before the first combat response from Carrier Command. This would occupy a large percentage of our forces, but I believe our initial strikes will paralyze Command and give us the time we need to embed our forces for the long struggle. Examine the board, if you will, and give us your assessment of that stratagem.”

  Andrew swallowed hard. He awkwardly divided his attention between the CV relief and the generals who were not quite sure what their liege was attempting to prove.

  When Andrew hesitated, Hadeed said, “In this tent, I encourage all my generals to speak with complete honesty. They can say whatever is in their heart. Andrew, I ask you to do the same. Can this strategy succeed?”

  Andrew wet his tongue and shook his head.

  “No, Honor. It will be a disaster.” The generals mumbled and groaned among themselves, but Hadeed encouraged Andrew to continue.

  “The plan is flawed in every respect. First, you make an assumption that Command will want to retake the city quickly to rescue Chancellor civilians. This is one of the great myths about the UG, even among the Chancellory itself. The tactical directive of Command is victory without consideration of collateral damage. If you take the city, Command will respond with a three-step directive. The first will be to surround the city with at least two, maybe three battalions. They will choke off all supply lines. There will be no airlifts, no food drops. Once they see that are you executing Chancellors, they will engage in steps two and three simultaneously. One will be indiscriminate bombing of the city with energy slews fired directly from the Carriers. You will lose whole neighborhoods in single blasts. The other will be planet-wide reprisals.”

  He choked up but continued. “We will … they will surround smaller, carefully-chosen enclaves, the ones with known agitators or criminal elements. They will use those individuals as cover.” He faced the generals and did not blink. “There is an order they give for such scenarios. One word. ‘Scorch.’ It’s what … what my squadron did three and a half years ago. It happens more often than you know. Not just here, but on the other colonies, too. Victory is morality. Nothing else matters to a peacekeeper.”

  The tent fell silent until Hadeed patted Andrew on the back.

  “My friends, in his time with us, Andrew has confessed all his crimes against humanity, provided us with intelligence that has proven remarkably accurate, and likely saved the lives of our disciples through his combat consultations. He belongs with us in mind and heart. I believe his tactical wisdom in this matter must be heeded. Gen. Assam, I do love the notion of this strategy, but clearly we will doom ourselves should we pursue it. Continue to develop plans, however, for a later assault. I remain convinced Messalina is the key. The war will be won or lost in the capital.”

  His generals nodded in agreement. Further discussion of battle scenarios did not last much longer. Benazir Asiah’s Scram was prepared to depart, and Hadeed had another important matter to attend before the sun began to fade. As the tent cleared out, leaving only Hadeed, Damon, and Andrew, the revolution’s most important convert thanked Hadeed.

  “Honor, today was the first time I’ve felt whole since before you found me. And even then, I was just a machine who thought I knew what I wanted.”

  Hadeed did something he never expected in his lifetime: He hugged a man of Chancellor heritage. “I am proud of you, Andrew. Not many humans see the light of truth before their flesh turns to dust. You are one of the fortunate.”

  “Your word is the only truth, Honor.”

  Hadeed gave the ex-peacekeeper a playful slap on the cheek. “Yes, Andrew, it is.”

  Hadeed and Damon watched their convert until he left the tent. Damon chuckled.

  “I suppose it’s true after all. Even a Chancellor can see the light.”

  Hadeed rested a hand on Damon’s shoulder. “No, Damon. All Andrew proves is that any man can cross over if he’s tortured long enough.”

  They stared at each other knowingly, and Damon’s smile disappeared. For an instant, Hadeed’s heart ached. Then he instructed Damon to Hadeed’s lair.

  “Access my CV substrata. You will find details of Declaration Day and the final departure plans for this complex. Distribute them to the appropriate streams.”

  Damon raised a brow in anticipation. “You’ve committed to a date?”

  “Yes. Our pilots made it a necessity, as we anticipated.”

  “It’s almost too hard to believe. After all these years.”

  “Yes, Damon. All these years.” They exited the tent. “Go on. We both have much to do. I need to see the others before they leave.”

  Damon nodded with tightened lips.

  Hadeed took a moment to study the camp’s bustle of activity. Maintaining a balance between stripping away the community he began building nineteen years ago and keeping a consistent working rhythm with what remained was proving to be a challenge. Still, he had no choice. They could not remain here as a single target once the war began, and they could not risk trying to move across the southern plains in a great caravan for fear that Carrier Command might be waiting for just such an opportunity. He could not be sure how much the UG truly understood about his new type of clan. Hadeed and his generals had been highly successful in establishing their operational pieces across the planet largely unnoticed. Whether the Chancellors did not understand, did not care, or laughed hysterically at the whole thing was something Hadeed tried not to debate. The only certainty was that all but the last few human pieces were in place for Declaration Day, and he was about to send off the ones he would never see again.

  They waited for him inside the cave once used to train the stolen children. All twenty were dressed in full regalia, their black shombas and arbiyas the symbols of their commitment. The oldest was forty and the youngest was twelve. A few had been with Hadeed for more than a decade, but most joined the fight in the last five years. They were the disaffected, disillusioned, emotionally destroyed, and most defiant members of their clans. Not only did they see life as an unbalanced duality in need of change, they also were willing to give all they ever knew or loved in support of that change. Most were recruited, a few were stolen, and others came south after discovering Testament to Truth. They were the most submissive while in Hadeed’s presence, and they all agreed – as Andrew McClatchen recently came to realize – that Hadeed’s word was the only truth. As he instructed, they followed without question.

  They stood in a semi-circle and smiled broadly as he entered. In the middle of the cave, a bowl of blood sat alone on a tiny table. Hadeed felt humble and yet ever so proud as he reciprocated their smiles.

  “I can never match your greatness,” he told them. “Your purity of spirit will be unrivaled by all the Hiebim who celebrate your deeds long after the war
is won. When I began my first pilgrimage in search of truth twenty-two years ago, I was an outcast. I was the only Hiebim who saw behind the veil. I wondered whether any others would find me. And if they did, would they listen? Would they believe?”

  He looked to the younger ones, who had tears in their eyes.

  “You have given me more love than a man should expect in his lifetime. You give me courage to fight the invincible enemy. And I will make certain your names are forever etched into the beloved clay of this world. And when our revolution spreads beyond Hiebimini and forces the Chancellors to retreat in cowardice back to Earth, the reality of what you did on Declaration Day will become legend on thirty-nine worlds. Others will spill their blood for our cause, but none will stand in history alongside you, not even Trayem Hadeed.”

  Most of the disciples were now in tears while the others pumped their chests and smiled heartily. Hadeed felt as if he were a giant, even among peacekeepers.

  “My friends, the date has been set. You know your responsibilities. When the time comes, free yourself of all fear and do as you have prepared.” He reached for the bowl. “Pull back your vests.” Each disciple pulled back the ceremonial robe and revealed a portion of their chest directly above the heart.

  “This is my blood,” he told them. “Know that I am with you to the end.”

  Hadeed opened his left hand wide, fingers spread, and dipped it gently into the blood. He came to the first disciple, who was also the youngest, a boy of twelve whose tears flowed freely. As he laid his hand against Mallik Raji’s chest, Hadeed felt the pride of a father. He would never allow Abraham or Omar to take their devotion this far, but he knew they would if called upon.

  When he completed the semi-circle, Hadeed instructed them to close their vests.

  “Hiebimini for Hiebim,” he said gently.

  They stood at full attention and responded with force. “Hiebimini for Hiebim!”

  In that moment, all lingering doubts about his great crusade disappeared. Hadeed knew they were ready.

  TWENTY THREE

  THE TWISTING WHEEL

  Vasily InterSystem Transfer Station

  Standard Day 87, SY 5311

  Andreas Ivanovic was a finicky eater. He blamed the travel. Too much generic fare onboard all those cruisers and transports. Those pre-fab meals always seemed to cling to the walls of his stomach and had little apparent desire to complete their digestive journey. He had only himself to blame, of course. All the brochures recommended vigorous exercise during intercolonial travel. However, Andreas was not the exercise type. He also did not have the constitution of a Chancellor.

  He explained all this to his most important client as he examined the wonderful dish just set before him at their small table overlooking the space port. He waved his hand across the entrée and allowed his nose to do the rest.

  “Fresh lobster,” he said. “Seems impossible so far out, of course. Yet, that’s what the menu says. I always have lobster at Vasily. I highly recommend it. Will you not join me?”

  Across the table, Sir Ephraim Hollander sipped crimson liquor and tapped the corner.

  “I have not paid for the privilege of watching you eat. Yes?”

  Andreas swallowed a chunk of white meat and sighed in satisfaction. “Yes, of course.” The bounty detective removed a translucent chip the size of a fingernail from his coat pocket and slipped it across the table to Sir Ephraim. “An extra, on the house. It was waiting at the drop point at Five-Three thirteen days ago, much to my surprise.”

  Ephraim was not expecting the data chip either, but he would translate it later. He had more pressing business. “You know what I want to hear.”

  “Yes, Sir Ephraim, I do. Unfortunately, we have not found him. He is remarkably elusive, and I say this as the greatest compliment to him and to those who trained him.”

  “Ivanovic, you have had this case for twenty-two standard months. How could you not find one peacekeeper on one planet?”

  Andreas enjoyed more of his scrumptious lobster and a tall glass of white wine.

  “I could live here, Sir Ephraim,” he said. “As to your son, apparently you are not familiar with Indo Prime. Anyone – even a man with your son’s considerable bulk – could find ample hideaways at every corner of that wholly forsaken pit. And I am trying to be diplomatic. Five billion Asiatics seem quite satisfied.”

  Ephraim refused to indulge in the detective’s intellectual parlay. He was much too familiar with Ivanovic’s practice of weaseling his way to the point. Had the man not been such an effective operative for a quarter century, he would have had Ivanovic spaced long ago. Ephraim’s impatience frayed his resolve. The events of the past two years unnerved Ephraim in ways he could not have predicted. Ilya’s initial, successful indoctrination to the glasses had left Ephraim satisfied but also blind to what would soon come.

  “Ivanovic, we would not be here if you did not have news of some import. I want everything. I want it now. Before you finish that lobster. Yes?”

  Andreas wiped his lips. “Everything? Perhaps that has been your failing, Sir Ephraim. We all have our limitations. Even a great, revered man such as yourself.” He smirked. “Yes?”

  Ephraim motioned for another liquor. “My son?”

  “Very well. We have a significant lead. We tracked a likely peacekeeper matching Ilya’s description to a place called the Ularu jungle. A nasty lot, they are. Two of my operatives went in, only one came out. I forget how many pieces they carved him into. It would seem that a man by the name of Ignatius Horne spent a few months in the employ of a pair of now-deceased opia traffickers. I must tell you, Sir Ephraim, this Horne fellow cut quite a swathe during his tenure. In our business, we would call him ‘stone cold.’ The survivors, such as they were, had varying tales, but his body count seemed to range between thirty and one hundred. He was also quite the connoisseur of his employers’ product. Now, I try not to be presumptuous in my line of work, but this behavior hardly seems consistent with a captain of the UG.”

  Ephraim did not care for Ivanovic’s opinions. “Where is this Ignatius Horne now?”

  “Difficult to say, but we continue to pursue all avenues. Of course, I have had to hire on new help since the unfortunate incident in the Ularu, and I must say that hiring protocol can be very exhaustive. Do you want us to pursue this angle?”

  “Yes. Find him. Whatever means.”

  Andreas nodded and savored more lobster. Ephraim’s refill arrived.

  “You’re certain?” Andreas asked.

  “Yes. Aren’t you?”

  The detective smiled. “Strangest thing about people who make themselves disappear. They always change their name but often keep their first initials. I suppose a part of them cannot let go of their true identity. Understandable, but also remarkably stupid. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I need him, Ivanovic. Do you understand? Whatever has gone wrong can be fixed, but I need him. He’s … he’s my son, Ivanovic. You have never let me down. Do not start now. Yes?”

  Andreas held up one finger as he sipped the last of his wine and ran his tongue across his lips. He turned to the CV menu and studied it.

  “I have never had dessert here. What do you recommend?”

  “Ivanovic, I tolerate your impertinence because …”

  “Because, Sir Ephraim, you lack any other options. Oh, yes … what I and my operatives have done for you. If the Presidium had the slightest notion. I must credit you, however. Keeping a hush on young Ilya’s desertion is a masterstroke. Don’t know how long that will last, of course. The UG has procedures to follow. Still and all, a nice play, sir.”

  Ephraim wanted to pound the table, but a scene was the last thing he needed. “What are you playing at now?”

  “Nothing in particular. I am just amazed when a man of your remarkable standing misplaces both a son and a wife. Must get the tongues wagging in the ol’ Presidium. I trust you’ve heard nothing from that unauthorized transport you sent in search of your wife’s sh
ip? Did it disappear off the Nexus as well?”

  Ephraim sat at full attention. How could the bastard have known about the search vessel? Ephraim had arranged the crew with secrecy rivaling the highest level of Sanctum classification. Genevieve’s mission in search of new energy locked within dark strata was overdue more than two years earlier. Ilya was eight months into UG duty when Ephraim commissioned the vessel at enormous personal expense. He heard nothing after the ship embarked.

  “You are a man who should be killed,” Ephraim said without emotion.

  “I rather think you’re right,” Andreas laughed. “I won’t be, of course. You see, I have a motto. ‘The secure man keeps remarkably accurate records where no one would think to look.’ But that’s neither this nor the other. We should part company now, Sir Ephraim. Appears I have work to do on Indo Prime. Still, I would like to leave you with an interesting anecdote I picked up recently at Nexus Nine-Four. One can never be wholly certain of the validity of such stories … they are often the delusions of …”

  “On with it, Ivanovic.”

  “As this story goes, there was a particular incident three years ago at Nine-Seven, the absolute outermost Nexus. It seems a fast-response vessel was summoned from the Carrier Archimedes off Xavier’s Garden. By the time that vessel arrived, the distressed ship – which, by the way, did not carry a flag – had lost primary engine and grav control. A third of the ship was on fire, but the crew was safe behind bulkheads. As well, apparently, as the ship’s cargo. Against standard protocol, most of the ship’s cargo was transferred to the rescue vessel. Shortly after departing, the unflagged ship self-destructed. Or so says my source. He has no idea what happened to the crew or cargo once they returned to Archimedes. However, my source soon received an enormous stipend along with a contract requiring him to conveniently erase his memory. Naturally, my royalties successfully demagnetized his memory. What you may find especially fascinating, Sir Ephraim, is that my source saw the entire crew disembark at Archimedes. He was sure the captain was a woman. Just on the remote possibility of this being more than a coincidence, I showed him a CVid of Genevieve Hollander.” Andreas smirked. “Would you like to know what he said then?”